"That is a good sign."
Basil felt the doctor's fingers on his pulse, and then his head was gently raised, and he knew that his temperature was being taken. He betrayed no consciousness of their presence; perhaps the conversation would supply him with the clue for which he was seeking.
"The fever has almost gone; in a few days he will be quite well. Has he not spoken at all?"
"No, doctor."
"Not even in his sleep?"
"No, doctor, not a word has passed his lips."
"All the signs are good. Has he opened his eyes?"
"No, doctor. If he only would! If he would only recognise me! I could die happy, then."
"You must not talk of dying. All that belongs to the past."
"No, doctor," said the woman, with a sigh, "it belongs to the future."